


The Family Business

by im_an_idjit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, M/M, oh god please forgive me for probable historical mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_an_idjit/pseuds/im_an_idjit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shooting people, smuggling booze...</p><p>In other words, the time Castiel visits The Roadhouse, inadvertently starts a feud between two mob families, ruins his favourite suit and sleeps in the Winchesters' basement, all in one evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Family Business

**Author's Note:**

> First fic of 2014! This was the result of finding Em researching on 1920s gangsters and St. Valentine Day's Massacre, and promptly being inspired. Keep in mind, I am by no means an expert on the 1920s or American gangsters. My knowledge is limited to what I've seen in films and what I could find on the Internet. So if I get anything wrong, just send me a message and let me know! As for the proverbial elephant in the room, I obviously chose to ignore the homophobia from the time period, because I don't like writing it, and it's my fic anyway :D
> 
> Beta'd by stelesandwands on FFNet and Em!

The gravel path was completely barren and forgotten, far from any kind of civilisation, and most importantly, well-hidden from view by the dense evergreen trees. However, the ground was also fairly loose, and as a result, _extremely_ noisy. This meant Castiel Novak heard the oncoming truck a good few minutes before it actually came into sight. As the squeak of tires against pebbles grew, he nudged his brother's shoulder. Finally, all those hours of squatting in the dirt would pay off.

Gabriel, who was up until now lazing in the fallen leaves and smoking, rolled over onto his stomach, then adjusted his mounted rifle. Castiel did the same, only he opted to shoulder his own firearm as opposed to keeping it on the ground. He took aim, and waited.

Gabriel raised his palm. The truck was almost in position, where the trees fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on who was asked) offered a small clearing, a chance for a good shot. Time seemed to slow, the truck's tires spun slower and slower, sluggishly crawling into the rifle's line of sight.

The hand came down. Several shots were fired, bursting like firecrackers. The tires were the first to go, in case of an attempted escape, and then it was the windshield- cracking into a spider's web before giving away entirely. Distant shouts and yells for help barely heard over the whizzing of overheated ammunition.

As suddenly as the attack started, the hail of bullets came to a stop.

When Castiel looked to his side, he saw Gabriel grinning like a Cheshire cat, his cigarette still firmly tucked between his teeth. "Let's check out the damage, then," his brother announced, sounding a little too cheerful for man who had just killed someone. "Mike will kill us if we hit the cargo."

Castiel offered a wry smile before he helped his sibling pack away the rifles and set them away in their own truck. The two trudged along the wet ground, slipping and sliding on the leaves, snorting at one another like children. Once they reached the bottom of the mound, Gabriel sent Castiel to open the back while he inspected the driver in the front.

The younger Novak grabbed his brother's arm. "You have your revolver on you?" Castiel inquired, just in case.

"I am hurt that you even have to ask," Gabriel dramatised, then flashed the holster under his suit jacket, revealing not one, but two guns.

Soon enough, Castiel was going over the boxes in the bed, making sure each one was still there, and every bottle of liquor inside accounted for. "The alcohol's in order, Gabriel. What about you?"

"All good, Cassie. Guy's dead as a doornail," came the chipper reply. He appeared beside Castiel in seconds, and the two loaded the boxes- falsely brandishing a label of a soap company- back into their vehicle. "All's well that ends well, huh?" Gabriel said as they rolled onto the main road. "Hopefully it'll teach those bastards. Might want to remember this stunt the next time they're stealin' our goods."

Castiel hummed in return, not in a particularly chatty mood. He wanted to get home, wash up and have something to eat. Four hours of sitting around in the middle of nowhere was not his idea of a good time. He was glad he had Gabriel with him, however irritating he could be at times. It provided entertainment throughout the afternoon. But now was the time to sit down in the company of a good book.

* * *

"Look what the cat dragged in." Anna laughed as Gabriel brought the truck to a stop. The back of the Novaks' family manor wasn't particularly busy; a few workers sat around, eager for the day's final shipment to arrive so they could take it down to the basements to storage and clock out. "What took you so long?" the redhead asked, watching the two brothers hop out of the vehicle, and joined them to help unload the boxes onto the ground.

"No idea. _We_ were on time," Gabriel informed her. "The truck didn't come for hours. Busted tire, bathroom break, fuck if we know."

Anna slung an arm around Castiel's shoulders and headed on inside, saying, "It's a good thing you finally came back. Michael was worried the information was faulty, and that you two had been caught."

"Mikey worries too much," Gabriel countered as he winked to Hester, Michael's secretary. Castiel knew her best for the Thompson hidden underneath her desk. "We had a great time, didn't we, Cassie?"

"In a morbid way, I suppose," the other returned with a small grin aimed at his brother.

They were left to walk the rest of the way to Michael's office alone, as Anna had to leave with Samandriel to see to an order that had to be sent out. Hungry and filthy, neither brother wanted to waste much time, so Gabriel swung the door open and ushered Castiel inside.

Michael and Lucifer, too busy pouring over several maps of the upper town, didn't look up to greet them.

"Give us a minute, I'll be right with you," Michael called over Lucifer's soft muttering.

Gabriel cleared his throat and mimicked a deep voice. "Sir, we found your brothers an hour ago. Both dead in a gutter, I'm afraid."

Castiel sighed, but it seemed an efficient enough way to grab their brothers' attention.

" _What_ \- Gabriel!" Michael glared. "Don't do that!"

"Yeah, your Raphael is getting a little uncanny," Lucifer noted on his impersonation.

Michael paced over to the two. "How did it go? Was there trouble?" he asked, mostly relying on Castiel for information.

"It was fine, there was only a little delay," Castiel explained. He took a seat beside Gabriel on the small, plump sofa. "None of the alcohol was missing. What are you doing with those maps?"

"And more importantly, when can we eat?" Gabriel inquired with a bright smile.

"Soon, just let us wrap this up," Lucifer called from the table.

"And what is 'this'?" the brunet sang, peeping over Lucifer's shoulder.

It was Michael who answered from his spot at the liquor cabinet. "Nothing you have to worry about, Gabe. You two did enough today." He handed the two a glass of whiskey, and would have continued speaking if it weren't for the door opening again. The four siblings automatically locked their eyes on the intruder.

"Blimey, that's unnerving," Balthazar, Castiel's best friend and an honorary Novak, muttered under the four gazes, his hands coming up in surrender. "Came to update you, Michael. Adler says he needs to speak with you about the new distribution arrangements."

Michael grumbled a quiet, "I'll see him after dinner," while Balthazar strolled over to Lucifer's side, promptly slipping an arm around his waist.

"How was your day, darling?" Balthazar murmured into the blond's ear.

"Haven't killed anyone yet, but the night's still young," Lucifer told him with a cheeky grin. He turned his head to kiss the Brit properly, then asked, "How about you? Having a good day so far?"

"You two are ridiculous, you know that, right?" Gabriel deadpanned.

Lucifer flipped him off, while Balthazar shrugged and answered the previous question. "I went out with Inias to deal with a client who thought we were being too pricey."

"Yes, how _did_ that go, by the way?" Michael asked, whose question was muffled on account of being in the middle of lighting a cigarette.

"Well, we suggested he quit pestering us if he valued his left arm," Balthazar responded casually, as if discussing the weather.

"Mm, well done." Lucifer chuckled, earning another kiss.

"What's all this, then?" the Brit asked and jerked his chin at the table top.

"Dunno. They won't tell us," Gabriel responded from his spot on the sofa, sock-clad feet nestled in Castiel's lap.

"We're trying to figure out a new route from the harbour to home," Lucifer explained. "The last time our drivers were jumped, it happened right here-" He pointed at a crossing, not more than a hundred metres from the harbour. "We're thinkin' it's time to change the course, in case someone knows our regular route."

"Yes, but it's proving to be more trouble than it's worth," Michael said, before turning to the two on the sofa. "Off you go and clean up. We'll have dinner in ten minutes."

Gabriel helped Castiel to his feet, then bent down to pick up his shoes. "Yes, _ma_ ," he teased.

Dinner was no more eventful than one regular people would have had. Castiel watched his family toss jokes back and forth, tell funny anecdotes from the past (which, admittedly, were a little too gruesome to be considered regular), and discuss sports, of all things. Overall, the evening left Castiel with a pleasant sensation in his stomach, an excitement of sort, to be with his brothers at the end of a hard day. He was filled with new energy, which he knew he had to walk off if he was planning to get some sleep. So he did just that- informed his siblings he would be back in an hour, and left for a stroll through town.

The walk was certainly soothing. There was not a single car to be found on the street, and the pedestrians were just as scarce. Lamp posts cast dark shadows all around him, and Castiel took note of his silhouette, plastered across the wall beside him. Despite the large coat he was wearing, he seemed small and harmless, not at all a member of one of the most successful mafia families in the city. He wasn't particularly short, but he was lean and lithe, and coupled with his features (Gabriel had often said his baby blue eyes were the perfect mask of innocence, much to Castiel's own dismay), he wasn't one to raise any suspicion at all. The only real reason to worry was if he was searched, and his weapons (consisting of a Colt Cobra, a semi-automatic pistol and a switchblade) promptly found.

His musings kept him company as he crossed multiple streets, passed a couple of shops and ultimately found himself at the centre of town. The number of people had rose from zero to about twenty, most of which were crowding around _The Roadhouse_ , a place which was up until recently popular for it's food as well as it's alcohol. However since the Prohibition, with the ban of alcohol came the fall in revenue. As a result, business was not doing as well as it once did, or so Castiel was told. He himself had only once actually visited _The Roadhouse_ with Lucifer and Balthazar. The atmosphere was nice enough, and the food was good, but Castiel was never one overly eager for outings. But for old times' sake, he reasoned as he approached the front door, it wouldn't hurt to go inside for a little while.

Upon entering, he was greeted by a young man wearing a tuxedo and a friendly grin. Castiel was distrustful the moment the other stepped towards him.

"Good evening, sir, name's Garth! May I take your coat?" the brunet offered.

With a mumbled, "Yes, thank you," Castiel handed over the garment, then realised the man was not finished.

"And will that be the restaurant or the speakeasy?" he asked cheerily. "Uh- sir."

So that was how _The Roadhouse_ was getting on nowadays. He had only seen the owner, Ellen Harvelle, once, and that was when she threw a pair of reckless customers out. She took pride in her bar, and didn't seem like the type of woman who would stand for any sort of crime associated with it. Castiel briefly wondered if Michael knew who was supplying them, since they certainly weren't.

With that in mind, he replied, "Speakeasy."

"All right, just go on down those stairs, sir," Garth informed him, simultaneously gesturing at the darkest corner of the place.

Another soft, "Thank you," and Castiel took his leave.

* * *

"Miss Harvelle, how 'bout another shot of whiskey!"

Jo yelled back, "Coming up!" as she filled out the order, then pushed the glass forward across the bar. "Here you go, Rufus. Need something else?" she asked, looking past his shoulder, to the company currently seated at the table behind them.

"Naw, thanks, we're good," the man responded, and left with a nod of his head.

The bar was always much busier Fridays, with people coming in after work and not having to worry about getting up early the following morning. Her mother was just down the stretch of the bar, laughing heartily as she served up more drinks, while Ash piled them up on a tray and whisked them off to their respective patrons.

Jo was always more supportive of the whole converting-the-old-basement-into-a-speakeasy idea than Ellen was. She was glad they took up John Winchester's offer; to supply them with the booze they desperately needed. And he was an old friend of the family- it wasn't as if they could not trust him. Jo knew how much the joint meant to her mother, and if illegal means were the only way to save it, she didn't have a problem with it. There were worse things in the world than drinking.

It was as she was setting away some glasses that she registered a young man descending down the stairs. He didn't look older than her by much, with dark, unruly hair and bright blue eyes. A light stubble was forming alongside his jaw, but other than that, he was tidy and pristine, fitting into his three piece suit nicely. The longer she looked, the more something nagged her mind. She had a funny feeling she had seen him before. Racking her brain, she thought of the possibilities. Had she really met him earlier? The eyes were the feature bugging her the most. They were the most striking, unforgettable shade of blue, not one she could find often. Vaguely, she registered a name...

No, it couldn't be, definitely not. He wouldn't dare to come here, of all places. Would he?

Jo had just enough time to act as if she was cleaning the surface when the man approached the barstool in front of her. "Hey, there," she greeted with a coy smile, then decided to try her luck. Maybe she could fish something out from him. "What's your name?"

The man stopped looking around the place and turned back to her, returning a (albeit shy) smile. "Scotch, please," was his response.

Jo pouted. "That how you treat all the girls you meet?" she asked.

The man chuckled quietly, but didn't say anything else.

"This your first time at _The Roadhouse_? Don't think I've seen you here before," Jo tried.

"I've been here once, a long time ago," he explained. "But back then, I was only upstairs."

She nodded, then turned to fix his drink. "Scotch, you said?" When the man nodded, Jo feigned what she personally believed was her best gasp yet. "Damn it, looks like I'm out of supplies. Will you give me a moment to pop to the back? Be back in a sec!"

Once she was away from the bar and seeming on her way towards the storage, Jo glanced back to her mother, but after seeing she was busy, she flagged down Benny, who was at her side in seconds.

"Something wrong, Jo?" he asked.

"It's probably nothing, but-" She nodded towards the blue-eyed man. "I thought that might be-" Then she opted to whisper, "Well, he just looks a little like he might be one of the Novaks."

Benny regarded the stranger, and Jo could see the cogs turn in his head. "Just hold on here. I'm gonna get Dean," he told her.

Jo was left to fend for herself, while Benny disappeared to their private lounges, where Dean Winchester was momentarily enjoying vodka and his brother's company. Not even ten feet away, Benny could hear laughter as well as some aggravated groans from behind the door.

"Dean, I'm being serious-"

"Sammy, I know, okay? Look, we'll talk to Dad about it," Dean promised, taking another swig. Hearing the door had cracked open, he took the cigarette out of his mouth and straightened up, his face automatically hardened.

"Sorry to bother," Benny said. "But there's a bit of a situation back at the bar. Jo's got a man who looks suspiciously like a Novak."

Sam's eyes widened, and Dean asked, "Which one?"

"That young, crazy-haired one, you know, the little Michael-look-a-like?"

Dean froze. What the hell was _Castiel Novak_ doing here?

"Dean, should I go too?" Sam asked when the blond extinguished his cigarette in the ash tray and got to his feet.

"No, I got it, Sammy. You go to the car and meet me back home, all right?"

If Sam protested, Dean didn't stick around to hear it. He went straight out the door and back to the heart of the speakeasy. When Benny pointed the intruder out again, Dean thanked him, and told him to act natural and go back to work. Even as he approached the bar, planning to surprise Castiel, Jo's eyes were set on him while she apparently tried to keep a friendly conversation going. Good luck with that, Dean's mind supplied. He knew Castiel was definitely _not_ a talker.

He silently slid onto the seat beside the Novak with a cordial, "Hey, Jo, I think your mom wants to see 'ya."

Jo gave an uncertain nod before she left, and Castiel's mood shifted without even having to look to the side. Dean noted his shoulders tense and his hand drift towards the inside of his suit jacket.

"Long time no see, Novak," Dean started.

"What do you want, Winchester?" Castiel returned. "You ruined a perfectly amicable conversation."

"Please, you were dying to get out of it."

"The fact that you aren't capable of having a civilized discussion with me does not mean others cannot either."

"What are you doing here?" the blond demanded, not in the mood to beat around the bush.

The other gestured at his glass. "I'm having a drink. That is generally what people do in establishments such as this one, isn't it?"

"Quit bein' a smart-ass," Dean snapped. "Did Michael send you?"

Castiel frowned as he spoke, "Usually, I do not rely on my brother to send me for a glass of Scotch. Now, and forgive me if I'm being too blunt, could you leave me be, please?"

Without drawing any attention to them, Dean swiftly intercepted the hand that had now fully reached under Castiel's jacket, his grip tight and rough around the wrist. For a moment, surprise flashed over Castiel's features, but he masked it with a glare.

Dean grit his teeth. "How 'bout we take this back to my place?"

* * *

To put it simply, Castiel knew he was in trouble. He was in the Winchester mansion's basement, tied to a chair, his weapons were gone and he currently had an irritated Dean Winchester on his case. Chances of surviving the night were slim, and even if he did make it alive, he would still have to throw out his favourite suit, because the inevitable blood stains would be a menace to wash out.

"Now that we're all comfortable." Dean grinned mockingly. "You can start again."

With a roll of his eyes, Castiel began, slowly and clearly, pronouncing each word carefully, "I came in for a drink."

In hindsight, cheek was probably not the best approach when you were tied up in another man's basement. Castiel's statement was met with a sharp blow to the face. His vision whitened then blurred instantly, and a hot throb began spreading through his entire face. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded through his moan, wincing. The taste of blood filled his mouth, and he wasn't sure whether it was his lips or from his nose or both.

"I want the truth, Castiel," Dean growled. "Why were you at Harvelle's tonight?" He squatted in front of him, so they were face to face. Castiel could practically taste the fresh smell of alcohol from Winchester's lips.

"Could you explain to me the error I've made?" Castiel hissed angrily. "As far as I know, you don't own _The Roadhouse,_ Ellen Harvelle does, and she has no preference to who her patrons are. _"_

"Don't try to pull that shit on me," Dean retorted. "You know that's our turf. What were you snoopin' around for?"

Castiel blinked. "Your _turf?_ Don't you know someone is supplying their..." he trailed off, his uncertainty quickly washed away by realisation.

Oh, lord. That was why Dean was so pissed. Why had it taken Castiel so long to figure it out? Stupid, stupid, Castiel's mind scolded. You should have known _the Winchesters were Ellen's suppliers_.

He looked away from the blank spot he had been staring at, raising his eyes to Dean's. "I didn't realise-"

"You know, I never pinned your brother for the double-crossing type," Dean told him as he stood and started pacing.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I thought we had a deal. We don't touch what's yours, and you don't touch what's ours," the blond so helpfully reminded him. "That was what Michael agreed on with my father."

"My brother would never go against his given word. How dare you accuse him, you arrogant _ass?_ " Castiel said venomously.

Dean's hand came down hard against Castiel's left cheek, and for a moment, he stared at the ground and inhaled deeply, letting the pain disperse.

"You're forgetting whose house you're in, buddy," Winchester warned. "Now, you're gonna tell me exactly what Michael sent you to find out, and why he's suddenly workin' against us."

Castiel ignored him. It wasn't his fault Dean was being stubborn and refused to listen. He was going to stop trying to be the diplomat and talking the error out. Winchester had insulted his brother, wrongly accused him of treachery and now he expected him to cooperate?

He felt a rough, calloused hand cup his chin harshly, forcing his head up, but Castiel refused to lift his eyes. "Look at me when I'm talking to you," Dean ordered. When Castiel didn't respond, he dropped his grip, but instead wound his free fingers into the thick, black hair and tugged back even more, arching the Novak's neck painfully.

"Dean, don't!" Both Castiel and Dean turned (well, Dean turned, Castiel could only move his eyes) to look over to the younger Winchester.

"Seriously, Sam?" Dean asked. "You've shot people you don't even know. _Now_ you're gettin' squeamish?"

"I just meant-" Sam shrugged, a look of sympathy sent in Castiel's direction. "Maybe he'd be more willing to talk if, you know, you're not manhandling him. I don't think it's very easy for him to talk from that angle." He gestured vaguely at the state of Castiel's neck.

This had to be the smart Winchester. Castiel immediately took a liking to him. "You're Sam Winchester, aren't you?" he asked after Dean relaxed his hold. "I expected you'd be my age, but I didn't think you would be that tall."

Sam tried to hide his smile. "Look- It's Castiel, right? We're not sure what's going on. With you disregarding the agreement, it looks like there's a possibility our ally is turning against us. You can understand why we're upset about this," he explained calmly.

"I promise you, Sam, Michael has no intention of betraying our agreement. This is just a misunderstanding," Castiel replied.

"Now you're hurtin' my feelings, Castiel. You ignore me, but you play nice with Sammy, a guy you've never met before?" A playful smile graced Dean's lips. It made him more handsome, in an annoying way, and lessened the urge to punch him in the face. "C'mon, you and I go back. How many times have we run into each other now? Six, seven?"

Castiel fixed him with a cold look. "I don't make a habit of being polite to men who assault me."

Dean smirked, huffing out a short laugh. After glancing at his watch, he announced, "It's getting late, and it doesn't look like we're getting' anywhere. Dad's gonna want to talk to you in the morning, you should get some sleep."

"If your father is as unwilling to listen as you are," Castiel said, "then you might as well shoot me now. My story will not change, because I'm not lying."

Dean regarded him carefully, as if contemplating what to do. Finally, he shook his head and smiled again. "Try to be nice tomorrow, since Dad will be the one deciding on what to do with you. He's not the most patient of people, and he doesn't like you as much as I do."

"How kind of you to warn me," Castiel deadpanned.

Dean simply chuckled at him. He carded a hand through Castiel's hair, before his thumb trailed down to trace his bottom lip. "I'll come and get you tomorrow," he teased in a light tone.

"I look forward to it," the Novak responded, although his voice made it clear he certainly was not. Castiel wasn't scared per say, but John Winchester was feared even within gang rings.

Dean pulled away, his hands settled into his pockets. Sam followed his brother out of the basement and carried out the order to, "Kill the lights, Sam." Castiel was left alone in the dark, wondering what his brothers were up to at that moment, and just how he was planning to get back to them.

* * *

When Castiel woke up hours later, he assumed it was the following morning. The time was difficult to tell, because typically, basements tended not to have any windows. Still, he attempted to do the math in his head; if he had left home at around eleven in the evening, he would have been by _The Roadhouse_ twenty minutes later, at the most. He estimated having sat with that barmaid for only about ten minutes, which pushed him to at least half past. Then counting from when Dean interrupted, to the ride to the Winchesters', then finally to last night's conversation gave him about forty-five minutes. Therefore, it was by quarter past twelve that he must have fallen asleep, and on a good day, when he wasn't interrupted, he slept for at least nine hours. Hence, he landed on the current time being around nine in the morning.

The calculations had kept his thoughts busy, but the longer he sat there the more Castiel realized the mess he had inadvertently put his family in.

The Winchesters and the Novaks were not allies, despite what Sam Winchester had said yesterday, but neither were they rivals. They were simply two groups with similar interests. They had common enemies- other gangs that were an equal nuisance to both parties- and these they took care of together, each side sending out a small group of three or four to eliminate the threat. But the two families rarely caused trouble for one another. No member ever crossed into the other's territory, or meddled with their affairs. They coexisted in a strange sort of peace.

This was the rule John Winchester and Michael had agreed on, and this was the rule Castiel just trampled over.

Castiel knew that having the Winchesters as enemies was something they could not afford, just like he was certain Dean knew the statement was true vice versa. The families were equal in both numbers and skill, and a feud between the two would only result in endless, unnecessary bloodshed.

He wondered if his brothers realised he was missing. If this were to happen to Lucifer or Gabriel, there wouldn't be a need to worry- the two often disappeared for the night and returned sometime the next day. But Castiel never stayed out ridiculously late, and he never slept anywhere other than in his own bed. Where would his siblings look first? All they knew was that he had left for a walk, there was no starting point at all. The thought depressed him.

Castiel still didn't know what time it was but he did know he continued to sit there for hours, pondering over his family's whereabouts. By the end, he was starving and filthy and exhausted (the minute he had woken up, he filed _never-sleep-in-a-chair-ever-again_ away in his mind for future reference). When the door of the basement finally opened, he initially had been dozing off again, his chin limply pressed against his chest. Raising his head, he squinted as his eyes attempted to adjust to the sudden light. However, all he could make out were silhouettes moving towards him.

"Wakey, wakey, Cas," Dean Winchester's voice sounded hazily. Castiel felt warm hands against his lower back, and vaguely registered that he was being untied. "Sorry I'm late, Dad's been busy all day. Couldn't squeeze you in anywhere."

He helped Castiel to his feet, then stilled, surprised when he met the Novak's soft, frail gaze. Castiel slowly murmured to him, lips cracking from disuse, "Fuck you."

Dean's mouth split into a grin. "Good to see you're still yourself. Had me worried for a moment."

Castiel scoffed at him, but didn't fight when the Winchester took his upper arm and lead him out of the basement. Once upstairs, Castiel could see the sky again, and could see night had fallen already, confirming that he had been there for at least twenty four hours. His brothers had noticed his absence, he was sure of it.

Still stuck in his own thoughts, Castiel didn't notice he was sitting down until Dean settled him into a chair. He took in his surroundings. A desk, a large leather chair, dark eyes.

"Mr Winchester."

"Mr Novak," John returned. "I don't think you and I've ever met before."

"No, sir."

John's grin made him look more like he was baring his teeth than smiling. "I've met all of your brothers, did you know? Michael, of course, more than once, and Lucifer too. Even that short one, Gabriel, but never you. Never the youngest brother, the little prince of the Novak empire."

Castiel didn't speak.

"You're in quite a mess, aren't you?" His tone was harsh, the lines of his face hard and pronounced under the lamp's glare.

"Mr Winchester, I can explain-"

"Really? Well, I'm glad to hear it," John said. "Because right now, it seems that Michael is not as trustworthy as I initially thought he was. Not only that, I'm beginning to doubt his smarts. Why would he send the brother he worries for most into my territory on a Friday night, the busiest time of the week?"

Castiel had been wrong, John Winchester was not as unwilling as Dean. No, John Winchester was worse.

He knew John was trying to trip him up. Maybe he expected to anger Castiel, make him admit something in his rage. It was no secret that Castiel was always considered the weakest member, with his youth and his brothers' protectiveness. The unfair judgement always irked him.

Regardless, Castiel couldn't focus on his personal feeling towards John Winchester. He had his brother's integrity to think of, so he swallowed his pride and began again. "This isn't my brother's fault, it's mine. I wasn't aware that your family has claimed _The Roadhouse_ as theirs. I was nearby and decided to take a look inside for a place to rest. Michael didn't send me to do anything, I swear it."

John watched him intensely, but Castiel refused to break eye contact. The Winchester asked simply, "Give me one good reason why I should believe you."

Castiel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "As you have so cleverly concluded yourself, it would have been ill-advised of him to do so."

The bit of snark was probably unnecessary, if John's scowl was anything to go by. But it had pulled a smile out of Dean, Castiel noted from the corner of his eye, and that made him feel unusually pleased with himself.

John's eyes showed a hint of restrained anger, a warning to back down. "Castiel, you are either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid for doing what you did last night. And even though I'm still on the fence about whether you are lying to me or not-" His sentence was dropped when hasty footsteps approached the door, which was consequently swung open not two seconds later.

Castiel was surprised, to say the least, to see Mary Winchester standing in the doorway, carrying her hands on her hips and a dangerous glare.

"Charlie told me what's going on," she announced. "John, is it true young Mr Novak was forced to sleep in the _basement,_ and was left to starve for the entirety of today?"

"Mary, darling," John started, exasperation etched in his features. "We'll talk about this later."

"C'mon, Mom, now's really not a good time-" Dean agreed, moving forward to usher her out.

"And you, young man." Mary turned to her eldest, who took a quick step back in response. Castiel would have laughed if he wasn't somewhat terrified himself. "You did that to his face?" she asked with a nod in the Novak's direction.

"Mom-"

"Now, Mary, really." John stood up. "This isn't the time for this. Just go on-"

"I support you, John, always," Mary stated, and John stilled. "I tolerate your work, I tolerate your late hours and I tolerate you dragging our sons into this," she said simply. "But when you bring your job into our home, and get blood all over my carpet, then it's a different matter _entirely_."

No one dared to speak back. Sitting there, Castiel idly wondered if he should not be afraid of John, but of his wife.

"You've heard the boy's story, and he's innocent until proven guilty. Contact Michael tomorrow morning and explain the situation," Mary suggested, although it sounded more like an order than anything else.

John sighed long and slow, like he was the most put upon person in the world. "You believe him?" he clarified, to which Mary nodded. John watched Castiel like a hawk, seemingly fighting an internal battle. Castiel held his breath- John's gaze was unwavering. Finally, he nodded to Dean.

"Thank you," Castiel said, and despite the fact that he was looking at John, he aimed his gratitude at Mary.

The elder son stood over Castiel and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Uh, what do you want me to do with him?" Dean asked.

John opened his mouth to respond, but it was Mary who answered. "Take Mr Novak to the guest room. Sam, I want you to tell someone to bring food up."

Sam, who had evidently been fighting the urge to grin massively for the past few minutes, mutely nodded to his mother and took his leave, while Dean got Castiel up and moving towards the door.

Castiel stopped in front of Mary when he had reached her, and added as a final afterthought, "I apologise for your carpet."

Dean snorted, biting at his lip, but Mary smiled kindly at the other. "It's all right. You go and clean yourself up," she told him.

"You're nuts, Cas," Dean decided once they were out of earshot. "Thought I told you to be nice."

"I think I handled it quite well," Castiel countered as the other opened the door on the far left. He barely spared the bedroom a second glance, and headed straight for the bathroom. Not wasting much time, he quickly went over his injuries in the mirror- there was a cut on his nose, where Dean had punched him, a small amount of bruising around it, and his lip was split, but it was nothing serious. He was surprised how easily Dean let him get off.

"Trust me, my dad's not someone you want to fuck with," Dean's voice followed him.

Castiel frowned while he searched through the medicine cabinet and picked out the rubbing alcohol. "Why the sudden worry, Winchester?" he asked, carefully applying the antiseptic on his nose. He hissed at the contact viciously.

"Don't want to see you end up dead in a ditch, Novak."

Castiel, deeming his work finished, put away the bottle and turned to face Dean. "I can take care of myself," he told him, before pushing past him and stepping back into the bedroom to find a tray of food already waiting for him.

He heard Dean's irritated retort of, "Clearly," as he sat down to eat, and decided to ignore it.

Castiel started with buttering his bread, and slapped Dean's hand away when he attempted to take some ham. "Get your own," he muttered.

Dean waggled his eyebrows mischievously as he made another grab for the slice of meat, this time succeeding. "Learn to share," was his reply.

They were silent for a moment, until Castiel decided to say, "I liked your mother very much."

"Yeah, 'cause she let you off the hook." Dean laughed.

"She is much more clear-headed than your father is," he went on. "Something you've failed to inherit from her, I'm afraid."

"You're making it really hard for me to not reach over and slap you again, you know?" Dean countered, to which Castiel responded with a wry smile.

Another short silence, before the Novak inquired, "What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"What do you think? Should your father be letting me go?"

Dean chewed on his lip, vaguely watching a piece of cheese. "I trust my mom's judgement," he said as he settled on the largest slice. "And if she believes you... Well, I can deal."

The rest of the meal was spent quietly. Once the tray was emptied of the food, Castiel stood up and paced back into the bathroom. The minute he was in, he started up the water for a bath and began shedding layers of clothing, careful to fold his waistcoat and jacket so there were no wrinkles. It was only as he started unbuttoning his shirt that he noticed Dean leaning against the door frame, arms folded over his chest and eyes trained on Castiel's.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Castiel asked warily, his hands unwilling to continue undoing the buttons.

Dean pushed away and took a step closer. "Nope."

"I'll make myself clearer, then-" Castiel growled, " _Leave_."

"Look, I might think you're not here to spy on us, but I don't trust you to not try and pull some shit the second you're left alone, Castiel," Dean explained. "I wanna keep an eye on you."

"I believe you can also do that _outside_ the bathroom," Castiel answered.

Instead, Dean simply settled on the lid of the toilet and flashed a grin. "Don't worry about me. I won't bother you."

Castiel grumbled irritatedly about stupid, stubborn Winchesters and their thick skulls, before finishing up with his clothes and slipping into the bath, constantly aware of the pair of eyes on his back. Water washed over his sore muscles, warmth quickly seeped into his bones, and without meaning to, he let a long, throaty groan escape, blissfully forgetting about Dean's presence.

"Oh, now you're just tempting me to join," came Dean's amused voice.

Rather than gracing the statement with a reply, Castiel asked, "My weapons- You took them when I arrived. What did you do with them?"

"They're safe and sound in a drawer in my room."

Castiel smirked as he rubbed a soap bar against his arm. "Be careful with them, especially the switchblade. That was a present from Gabriel. Damage them, and I'll kill you."

Dean laughed. "Wouldn't expect anything different."

The Novak hesitated, brow creasing in thought. "I was surprised by the lack of injuries I've sustained. It didn't look like you bothered to torture me much, although you are _notorious_ for getting people to talk that way," he voiced his previous thought while he washed the grime off his neck.

Dean shrugged, peeling off his suit jacket and letting it drop to the floor, then loosened his tie and left it draped over his shoulders. "I like you, so I took it easy. Didn't want to bruise you too bad," he said.

"You have a strange way of showing affection."

"So do you."

Castiel's eyebrows rose. "Oh, and what exactly is my way?"

Dean grinned wolfishly. "You snap at me all the time."

"It's all in your head, Winchester," was what Castiel settled on, before saying, "Pass me the towel, please."

The blond did so while the other stood up, and made sure his leering was obvious as he watched water rivulets run down Castiel's figure. The Novak took the offered towel hastily and glowered at him. Dean had the audacity to innocently smile back.

"The robe." Castiel jerked his chin at the aforementioned garment hanging off the door once he had dried off. " _Please_."

After he passed it to him, Dean left back to the bedroom, calling over his shoulder, "What do you drink?"

"Brandy, if you have any." Snuggled into the velvety material, Castiel tied the strap tightly, suddenly taking notice of the little glimpse of dark metal in the inside pocket of Dean's discarded suit jacket. Mulling over his idea several times before acting on it, he reached down and picked the pistol out of its hiding place and slipped it into the robe's pocket. When he appeared in the bedroom, Dean was already turning away from a cabinet, a glass in each of his hands.

"Here," he said and handed one to Castiel.

"Thank you." The Novak took a timid sip, eyes following Dean's movements as the blond raised the glass to his lips, then tipped his head back to drink. In the blink of an eye, the pistol was out and tucked under the Winchester's chin. Castiel smiled smugly.

Head still angled backwards, Dean's eyes moved to look down at Castiel's hand. "Gotta admit, that's a bit of a mood killer," he said from behind his glass.

"You're getting sloppy, Dean. You didn't even realise you left your gun in the suit jacket," Castiel chided him.

Dean blindly set his drink down on the bedside table some two feet away from him, then smirked down the length of the gun. "You're the sloppy one, Cas. The safety's still on."

A second of silence passed between them. Needless to say, this had not been Castiel's day.

He put down his own glass, his jaw tightened and eyes burning. "I'm the one with the gun, in case you've missed it. Now, either I shoot you, or you let me leave this _instant_ -"

His threat was left unfinished, because Dean, completely disregarding the gun aimed at his jugular, leaned in and pressed their mouths together. He softly worked his lips against Castiel's, easily parting them to deepen the kiss. Once successfully caught off-guard, it wasn't hard to ease the pistol out of Castiel's pliant fingers. It clattered loudly against the floor, forgotten as Dean kneaded his fingers into Castiel's hair, tugging hard, and earning a quiet whimper in return.

"I knew you'd have a kink for that," the Winchester slurred between kisses.

"Do you often think of my sexual preferences?" Castiel asked, only half-teasing.

"All the goddamn time."

Dean pulled him closer to his chest, and Castiel's fingers wandered to the buttons of the black waistcoat. They were loosened in an instant, then it was only a matter of pushing the fabric, along with the undone tie, down Dean's shoulders and manoeuvring it over his elbows. It forced the Winchester's fingers to lose contact with Castiel's hair, which didn't thrill him very much, but at least it was easier now to get a start on his dress shirt.

"Wait, stop- Let me take the robe off," Dean grunted.

Castiel countered with a small smile. "Like hell. I'm getting this shirt off first."

"Wanna bet?"

Their eyes met briefly, before Castiel promptly made work of undoing the remaining buttons, very aware that Dean's hands had slid down to his waist. By the time he felt the strap of his robe slacken, Castiel had unbuttoned Dean's trousers and untucked his shirt, ready to force it down his arms. Dean proved faster this time, having already slid the robe down to the elbows, and trailing his lips over Castiel's exposed shoulder. Whether this was a method of distraction, Castiel wasn't sure, but it was proving to be effective. He sighed under the blond's touch, fingers stroking the hairs on the nape of his neck encouragingly. Dean seemingly forgot the rest of the robe however, too busy nipping at the curve of Castiel's neck. In the end, he simply gave in, done with the game, and pulled the rest of his own shirt off, then doing the same to the other's robe.

"Fuck it, I'm callin' it a tie," Dean announced, now choosing to wriggle out of the trousers Castiel had previously unfastened, then finally shucked off his boxers. Without warning, he grabbed the back of Castiel's thighs, pulled him up and securely wrapped his legs around the waist. Castiel gave a surprised yelp at the sudden friction and change of altitude, but Dean was already too busy carrying him halfway across the room to notice.

He settled them down on the edge of the bed, let Castiel anchor his knees on either side and kiss him again. Head tipping back, a moan was drawn out when he started grinding into his lap, his drags long and slow.

"Fuck, _Cas_ ," he grit out, letting their foreheads rest together. His fingers traced the thin, white scar cutting across the width of Castiel's shoulder. "How'd you get that?" he asked huskily, shivering from the way Castiel nipped at his stubbled jaw.

"Bullet graze," the latter breathed, then pointed to another cut just under his ribs. Dean rubbed his thumb against it, took in the length and width of the smooth skin. This scar was thicker and longer, and- back when it was fresh- probably quite deep. "Knife fight," Castiel murmured, smiling against Dean's skin, breath hot on his earlobe.

"What else you got?" Dean raised his head to leave chaste kisses in the corner of Castiel's mouth, now opting to knead his fingers into the other's waist, encouraging him to keep the rhythm up.

Castiel hummed, then took the blond's free hand into his own and placed it on the nape of his neck. He guided his fingers over several tiny lines criss-crossing over one another, watching Dean's brow furrow as he followed the jagged patterns. "Someone hit me with a glass bottle a while ago," Castiel explained. Burrowing into the crook of Dean's neck, he said, "Tell me about yours. Please."

So Dean lifted his right arm and showed off his forearm, where a thick, shiny line crossed diagonally. "Burn from a hot poker." He chuckled.

Castiel sharply sucked in his breath, then asked, "How-?"

"Long story, trust me. Involved a raid at a blacksmith's," the other said. He shifted slightly so Castiel slid down on his knees. "Then, this one here-" He indicated the round blemish on his thigh. "That's a gunshot wound. Nine millimeter caliber, from what I remember."

Castiel gently ran his hand up and down the thigh, brushing over the scar with his thumb. "Any more?" he asked.

"I've got tons, but the problem is, I don't remember how I got them." Dean grinned at him playfully while he pulled him closer, further up the bed. He attempted to flip them over, but instead Castiel's fingers splayed out over his chest and pushed him back down onto the pillows. He teased lightly, "There's no way I'm bottoming for anyone, especially you, Novak."

Castiel rolled his eyes, but there was a genuine smile on his face. "I wasn't going to ask you to," he murmured, leaning in for a deep kiss. "I think the real question is, what do we use as lube?"

Dean's voice was muffled under the other's mouth. " _Fuck_. There anything in that drawer?" he asked with a gesture at the bedside table.

Castiel got up from his position on Dean's stomach, much to the Winchester's displeasure (he made it clear with an overdramatised pout), and started rummaging through the drawer's contents. A pen, bit of string, two empty rifle cartridges-

"Not what I'd prefer, but beggars cannot be choosers, I suppose," he called as he inspected the small bottle of lotion he had found, before crawling back to the blond.

Soon, there was enough lube between the two of them, and Castiel was hovering over Dean again, prepped and his entire body flushed in a deep, rosy pink. The tingle of Castiel's fingers on his chest was suddenly very distinct while Dean got a grip on the other's waist in attempt to help ease his way down. Mutual hisses thrummed in the air, but there was a breathy smile on Cas lips as he sunk down. He rubbed, fidgeted, shifted a little until Dean was properly settled inside.

Dean began with slow thrusts, trying to find a good balance to work with Castiel's steady grinding. Lengthy drags and sharper snaps made Castiel's head drop to his chest, his mute gasps mingling with Dean's low, content moans. When the blond tried to change the rhythm to a faster pace, Castiel stubbornly prolonged it again.

"Slow, Dean," he finally choked out. "Go slow, _please_."

Dean grinned as he appraisingly looked over the breathless state the other was in. "Who would've thought I would get Castiel Novak to beg?" he panted, but Castiel took note that his hips steadily took on a slower tempo. His hands ran up and down the length of Castiel's body, eliciting shivers on his skin. "I wouldn't have- _ah_ \- pinned you for that type, though."

The other offered a half-smile. "It's more enjoyable, I- I like when it lasts longer."

They stayed silent for a time after that, each focused on the other's movements, listening to the gasping, panting, whimpering. It was different for Castiel to see Dean Winchester so off-guard and ruffled. In the year or two they had known each other, there was always some tension, a spark, between them. Both remained cautious around the other, aware of the attraction, but never quite sure whether to pursue it or not. Castiel thought about it, more often than he'd be willing to admit. He couldn't help but wonder if their acquaintance could ever turn into something more, even with the vigilance the nature of their work forced them to carry around one another. But despite that, and despite Dean's stubbornness and cocky attitude, Castiel realised that, yes, 'more' was something he'd certainly want to try for with Dean, if given the chance.

He didn't register Dean had propped himself up on one elbow, cupping Castiel's chin and, bringing him closer until he kissed the corner of his mouth. "I know that face," he said in an undertone. "You're over-thinkin' something."

"I'm not over-thinking," Castiel answered. "Just... _thinking_."

Dean nodded in mock-agreement, stretching up to fully brush their lips together. "Do me a favour? Quit thinking. We'll deal with it in the morning." The way he said it, the deliberate use of _we_ , made Castiel wonder if the other knew exactly what had been on his mind.

Dean's body suddenly lurched forward, gently but firmly, so the weight rolled Cas onto his back. The Novak got the message, wrapped his legs around Dean's waist and reluctantly let him cover him with his body. Dean pressed his mouth over Castiel's, worked his lips open with short, fluid movements of his jaw, licked inside the warmth easily, twined their tongues together. Castiel full on _moaned_ into the kiss, noses rubbing and scratching together. Finally free to do so, Dean switched to short, quick thrusts, pushing in deeper, rougher. Heat began pooling low in Castiel's stomach, and he could tell Dean was close too.

"Hold on, let me-" the Winchester grunted, then nabbed one of Cas' legs off his waist and hooked his arm under the knee.

It gave a better angle, the one that had Castiel digging his heel into his shoulder blade and purring in content. Very happy with the reaction, Dean pulled back slightly to make more space as he pried the other leg free, hitching it up on his shoulder. Castiel's response was a choked groan, and the other smiled smugly, pleased he was finally able to find the spot that made Castiel's eyes roll back into his head. His hand came to cup the side of the Novak's head again, dragging his fingers freely through the dark curls, tracing his full bottom lip with his thumb, while he pressed kisses into the side of his knee. Castiel repeatedly murmured Dean's name like a prayer, vaguely conscious of his fingers grabbing onto fistfuls of bedsheets, though all sense of awareness disappeared when his vision whitened.

"Ah- _Dean!"_

Warmth seeped between their stomachs, and Castiel was coming in spurts, his chest heaving, eyes blissfully glazed, his body so wonderfully pliant. He watched Dean tense on top of him, all hoarse groans and shaky breaths, slurred profanities and praises falling from his slack lips. His grip on Castiel's body was gone, his forearms settled on either side of his head instead, lips inches apart. Their kisses were feather-light touches, Castiel's mouth forming a silent 'o' as he felt Dean fill him up.

They stayed lying together after that, Castiel's limbs wrapped around Dean, his head tucked away into his shoulder. His mind was racing- about his brothers, the agreement, the trouble he had caused, and Dean. He somehow always came back to Dean, with his overconfidence and unwavering loyalty and bright smile. Castiel felt dread settle in his heart at the thought of the following morning. What if John Winchester refused to listen? What if war broke out between the two families? Could he and Dean still be... whatever the hell this made them?

"Stop it," came the reply from the man himself, his voice still raw and gravelly. "I can hear the cogs turnin' in your head, Cas." Dean pressed a kiss into the dark ruffled hair, mumbling, "Sleep, seriously. Or we'll go at it until you're _definitely_ sexed out."

"You say it as if it's a punishment," the other purred into Dean's ear, fingers lightly tracing over the inside of his thigh.

Dean turned his head. "You smooth bastard." He chuckled against his mouth, before quickly rolling them over again.

* * *

By the time Dean turned over onto his back, yawning without so much as a hand over his mouth, Castiel had already been awake for about two hours. Peeking over the rim of his newspaper, he watched the sleepy individual rub his eyes sluggishly, stretch his arms upwards, humming in satisfaction as his back popped several times. When he sat up, the bedsheets pooled around his lap, the morning rays caught on his tanned chest and in his messy blond hair, lighting up his features as he blearily squinted at the man in front of him.

"Wha' time issit?" he slurred, bringing his hands over his eyes in attempt to hide from the sunlight.

"Almost ten," Castiel replied and turned back to his paper. After seeing there was nothing but the sports section left, he folded it away instead. "Did you sleep well?"

By this time, Dean had thrown his legs over the edge and was currently looking around for any sign of his clothes, but with no luck. "Mhm, like a baby," was his reply. "Never expected you to be a cuddler, though."

"I am _not_ a cuddler."

Grinning, Dean walked over to the armchair Castiel was settled in. "You so are, man," he said, and before Castiel could reply, he placed a hand on his neck and pulled him in for a lazy, slow kiss.

Castiel rumbled low in his throat. "Good morning," he murmured against Dean's lips.

"Mornin'," the other said, pulling back, then threw a glance in the direction of the bathroom. "I gotta take a bath. You interested in joining?" he asked with a cheeky smile.

Castiel bit his lip in consideration, but sighed and shook his head. "I can't. Michael will be here soon."

Dean did a double take. "Michael's coming _here?_ "

"Yes, your father wants to speak with him. And me, again."

"All right, just give me a minute. I'll come down with you."

That was what they did ten minutes later. As the two descended down the stairs, Castiel was going over his newly returned weapons, making sure there wasn't a single scratch on the surface. He made sure his bullets were in order, just in case worse came to worst and he had to do what was required of him. With a glance at Dean, he found himself sincerely hoping he wouldn't have to, no matter how much he disliked John Winchester.

The silence in the eldest Winchester's office was tense and uncomfortable, with John sitting in an armchair in the centre of his room, his two sons on either side, and Castiel standing across him. Every now and then, John would speak to Sam and Dean in a hushed tone, to which the brothers replied with two or three words, or a simple nod. Castiel's fingers itched to pull out his pistol and just hold it as his proverbial comfort blanket, but he doubted that would look good. Avoiding any more trouble at this point was the most preferable option.

When he heard the door behind him open, he inhaled deeply to steady himself, then slowly turned around on his heel. Michael stood in the doorway, his posture casual despite the small scowl on his lips. As Castiel had suspected, Lucifer was at his side with a cigarette between his lips and, much to the former's surprise, a Thompson submachine gun against his shoulder.

In a flash, Sam and Dean had their guns out, cocked and aimed at the blond Novak. Michael tutted at them, his eyes never leaving John's.

"No need, boys. He's harmless as long as he finishes his cigarette," he said, and out of respect, greeted the head of the house first, "Mr Winchester."

"Glad you could be here," John acknowledged, gesturing for the two to take a seat in the armchairs in front of him.

As he crossed the room, Michael's eyes flashed to his youngest brother. "Castiel, are you all right?" he asked calmly, to which Castiel nodded mutely, frowning when Lucifer winked at him. Michael settled down. "How about someone tells me what exactly happened?"

So Castiel was asked to recount his side again, starting from the moment he left home and ending with Dean finding him at _The Roadhouse_. Michael showed no emotion as he spoke, but Castiel knew his brother was taking in each detail and storing it away for later comparison. Then Dean explained how Benny had come to him, and how the story Castiel had told him then complied with what he said now. John ended with a brief grumble that was confirmation for what he had heard as well. For a moment, Michael didn't speak, his hands folded as if in prayer.

"Although you have kidnapped my brother on account of a whim and physically violated him, if the state of his nose is anything to go by," he said, voice frighteningly even, "I do not hold it against you. Given the circumstances of our pact, this would have certainly seemed suspicious, and I understand why you had to act. If I were in the position, I would have responded the same way." He spoke directly to John now, "I have not sent any of my men to spy on you, and will not attempt to do so in the future, I promise you. I hope this little misunderstanding has not made you rethink your decision to cooperate with me?"

"Well, now that this has been sorted, I don't think there's a reason for that," John responded.

"Good." Michael nodded. "Then we may go?"

"Yes," Mr Winchester said, "but I suggest you keep a leash on that baby brother of yours from now on."

Michael smiled, but it was cool and feigned. "Have a good day."

He and Lucifer stood together, the latter wrapped his free arm around Castiel's shoulders and lead him out the door. From the corner of his eye, Castiel noted John nodding at Dean and making a gesture to follow them. An unfamiliar feeling of relief flooded over him.

Outside, as Michael headed towards the car, the youngest slipped from his brother's hold and slowed down. Lucifer looked at him bemusedly. "I'll be right behind you, I promise. Just give me a minute," he said, and a glance over his shoulder confirmed that Dean was right behind them.

Lucifer noticed the Winchester's presence as well. "Castiel-"

"I'll be fine. Don't worry."

The elder Novak shot an unfriendly look towards Dean, but headed off in the direction Michael took. Castiel turned to find the Winchester standing beside him, an open cigarette box in his hand as a white flag. Castiel took up the offer gratefully, and allowed Dean to light it for him.

"Thank you," he mumbled as the Winchester lifted the match to the end of his own cigarette.

The other did nothing but nod, taking a long draw. Silence dragged on as he seemed uncertain of what he wanted to say. Finally, green eyes met blue. "Tomorrow, eight o'clock, Harvelle's bar. Think you can be there?"

The other smiled wryly. "I don't think we want a repeat of last time, Dean."

"Then how about my apartment uptown?" Dean challenged, smirking.

"Why, do you plan to tie me up again?" Castiel quipped.

A shrug. "If you're into it."

Castiel laughed as he regarded the Winchester carefully. After another draw from his cigarette, he tapped the middle with his index finger and turned on his heel. Strolling away, he peeked back over his shoulder, then called, "Pick me up at seven, and do not be late."


End file.
